The Pick-Up Artist
by Kyonomiko
Summary: Draco thinks he's pretty slick when it comes to talking to the witches of Hogwarts. His usual tricks seem to have a different affect on Hermione Granger, which makes him want to know her all the more. EWE Dramione fluffy one-shot


**Disclaimer: So many things here I don't own.**

"Come on, Pansy. Don't tell me you've not thought about it. You don't know what you've got until it's gone, love. Now I know what I've been missing."

Hermione Granger rounds a corner near the library to find Draco Malfoy leaning into Pansy Parkinson. He's making an obvious attempt to reconnect. Hermione rolls her eyes at the ridiculous cliché line he just tried to use but then slows her pace and stays partially hidden when she sees Pansy seem to lean into him.

"Merlin, Draco, you always know just what to say..." Her eyes flutter closed and she leans ever closer, their lips nearly connecting, when she stops and puts a hand on his chest.

"No. Not this time. You're words are pretty but it never works. _We_ never work. Not before the war and certainly not now."

There are tears in the corner of her eyes as she backs away and then Hermione sees her tear down the corridor, away from Slytherin's somewhat-fallen prince.

Draco scuffs his shoe on the stone floor, in what seems more agitation than heartbreak, and then turns a corner into the library. Hermione follows just after and takes a seat at a table across from her former rival. He doesn't seem to notice her, intent as he is in looking at a parchment full of notes. Hermione watches him for a moment before digging in to her own work.

Until, that is, Daphne Greengrass enters in a huff and flops down across from him.

"What did you do to Pans," she hisses in an angry whisper.

"I just reminded her what we had. Seems she's not interested in revisiting that connection."

Daphne rolls her eyes at him. "You mean you tried to shag her and she realized you don't want her for more than that?"

Draco grins a little. "Always the smartest of the witches in my life." He shrugs and tucks the parchment back in his robes. "Pansy and I had fun. I never promised more than that."

He seems to regard her for a moment, coming to some decision. Hermione realizes she's been watching the exchange unabashedly and completely ignoring the study guide in front of her. She really should be studying for her Potions exam but something about Draco in 8th year has had her a little intrigued. He seems more open. Casual. He has completely stopped bullying her, Harry, and Ron. Though he still mostly keeps to Slytherin for company, he is relatively polite to other houses and their instructors. Sarcastic and haughty at times, but not cruel. He also, notably, seems to be in constant flirtation with various classmates but has not settled down to a particular witch.

"You know," he's saying now, "I only went back to Pansy because she's safe. Familiar. Maybe I'm afraid of rejection. Maybe I don't know what witch might take a chance on me. What about you, Daphne?" He looks at her with smouldering eyes and brushes her hand with his across the table. "Would you take a chance on me?"

He sounds so completely out of character, it's all Hermione can do not to snicker. His pick-up lines are atrocious, how can these witches even consider...

But again she sees Daphne bite her lip like she's actually thinking about it. "I know better than that, Draco Malfoy. I see past that silver tongue. You'll always take more than you give."

She actually looks a little sad as she gets up to walk away. Draco huffs and takes the parchment back out that he had been working on, making notes next to the other writing.

XXXXXX

An evening mere days after the library encounter, Hermione is patrolling the halls when she finds Malfoy yet again in an intimate setting with a witch. It's not quite curfew so she really has no reason to interfere, but her curiosity was always a dangerous aspect to her personality and she is drawn into listening from around an alcove, mostly hidden from view.

The witch giggles at whatever Hermione has just missed and she sees Malfoy move a little closer. "We could take in a Quidditch match maybe, over the hols."

"I suppose you wouldn't have any trouble getting tickets then?" she asks with a demure smile.

He smirks down at her and chuckles. "I never have trouble getting tickets to anything. In fact," closer still, he leans into the petite girl, "if you want to explore the possibilities in a more _private_ setting, I think I've got two tickets to paradise."

The girl giggles again and Hermione nearly chokes. There is no way in all of creation Draco Malfoy came up with that line on his own.

Unable to stand it, she continues down the corridor, leaving the safety of her hiding place which causes the witch, who Hermione now recognizes as a pureblood Hufflepuff girl, to step back from the compromising position. Draco in turn glares at her.

Megan Jones bites her lip and says, "Well I guess it's time to get to my room. Maybe we can talk again later?" She flashes Draco a smile and then walks away with an embarrassed blush on her cheeks.

"Great. Thanks, Granger. _Excellent_ timing."

"Sorry but you know it _is_ almost curfew," she says as if she knows he is fully aware of the time. "I'm just beginning my patrol." Unable to control her insatiable questioning mind, she asks, "What are you doing out right now anyway?"

"I was having a nice chat with that pretty little Hufflepuff but it seems your swottiness scared her off."

"A chat? Seems you were trying to do more than talk."

He grins a little and shifts to a more casual stance. "Jealous, Granger?"

She snorts before she can help it and raises an eyebrow. "Of those sorry pick-up lines you've been trying? Not in the slightest. I may not be the most sought after witch at Hogwarts but I'm discerning enough to want to be romanced, not picked up like a lady of the night in a tavern."

He seems to pout a little, as if he has no idea how ridiculous he sounded. "What's wrong with how I romance? You didn't see her protesting did you? Witches love my poetic flirting."

She laughs outright this time and gasps around the word, "poetic?" as incredulous as she can. "You think you sound _poetic_ …?" His completely serious demeanor makes her stop laughing (eventually) and she questions, "Wait... you really think you sound smooth don't you?"

"Maybe you just don't appreciate my beautiful use of language and clever turn of phrase."

She eyes him and slowly works out, "Wait... what is that parchment you had in the library?"

He looks momentarily surprised but hides it with a sneer. "Spying on me now, Granger? How very common. Unless... are _you_ interested?" He smirks and moves a little closer and Hermione is backed into a wall with his lean body angled close and warm. He lowers his voice and brushes a curl from her eyes, his own softening into the burn of an ember. "You can be honest with me. I'm not the same guy I was last year. Do you think I'm sexy, Hermione?"

Her breath hitches and he leans even closer, studying her with those haunting grey eyes. "Do you want me? My body?" His fingers trail down her arm delicately enough to make her weep.

She seriously considers his question. Does she? Merlin, but he is quite fit and she's not been with anyone since Ron early last summer and holy fucking dragons his lips are so unbelievably close. Does he want _her_?

"Come on, Sugar… let me know..."

The spell is completely broken when Hermione loses all basic function and laughs in his face. Either he's serious and it's hilarious or he's just having a laugh at her expense and laughing first seems her best defense.

She pushes around him and waves him off as she heads down the corridor. Calling behind her she advises, "Get to the dungeons, Malfoy. Curfew in three minutes."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the coming days, Hermione doesn't notice Malfoy talking to as many other witches but she does notice him looking at her more than once. Probably cross that she saw through his little ruse, ruined his fun in tormenting her.

Their next meeting occurs near the Quidditch pitch at nearly dusk on a chilly Friday night. Hermione is trudging back from a visit with Hagrid. She finds she is spending more time with him this year as Ron and Harry are becoming more and more enthralled in their own changing lives. Harry is working toward Auror training at the end of term and his relationship with Ginny has advanced into something much more time consuming and definitely less of a group activity. Ron has rekindled something with Lavender Brown, and thank Merlin for that distraction, quickly mending his 'broken heart' and leaving Hermione free of his sweet but doomed pursuit.

She notices Malfoy flying formations alone above the pitch and quickens her pace, not wanting to be the subject of his ridicule. The more she considered their confrontation in the corridor, the more she has decided it was a gag and she was the joke.

He lands just ahead of her and she's completely pissed at herself for thinking how amazing he looks in that Quidditch gear.

"You're out late tonight, Head Girl."

"It's not that late. Anyway, you're still out. A bit of the pot calling the cauldron black I dare say."

He chuckles and dismounts his broom. "You've been avoiding me."

"Avoiding…? What the ever-loving hell does that mean? I've _always_ avoided you. Much the same as you did me unless you were looking for someone on which to take out your ire."

He shrugs like it's nothing. Like seven years just vanish because he wills it so. "I've changed."

"Well I've not," she says, haughty, and swings her curls over her shoulder. She re-starts her trek to the castle but he steps in front of her, blocking her path.

"Are you afraid to be alone with me?" He asks with a little humour but she can tell he's also _actually_ asking. Like it might bother him if she is.

To alleviate any concerns on that front she raises her eyebrows and scoffs. "Of course not."

"Then why run away?"

She rolls her eyes this time and starts walking again. He falls into pace beside her. "I'm not running, Malfoy. When have we ever spoken outside of insults? Are you honestly asking why I'm not trying to engage you in conversation?"

"I'm just wondering why you won't at least reciprocate when I try."

"Because you're a prick?"

His mirth scales off and he frowns slightly. "You don't really know me at all, has that occurred to you? I mean beyond the part of myself I had to put forward all these years. I'm more than that."

A little guilt prickles behind her brain and she stops to look at him. "I'm sure that's true actually. I always assumed there was more underneath. I'm the one that told Harry there's no way you were evil enough to be a Death Eater." The delicious temptation to throw out "guess I was wrong" calls to her but she tempers her biting remark to simply, "no one is just any _one_ thing."

He seems to find her words encouraging and grins again. "You for instance, Granger, must be more than a bookish little know-it-all."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment? Merlin you are terrible at this."

"At what?"

"I don't know, whatever this is. Chatting up girls? I mean that ditzy little Hufflepuff seemed impressed I suppose."

"Who says I was chatting you up? Just having a conversation."

"You chased me down from the pitch to have a conversation with a mudblood?"

He looks away and she sees his jaw tense. "I don't use that word anymore."

A quiet settles over them which is not companionable, comfortable, or pleasant. Finally Hermione starts walking again and this time he doesn't follow. Thinking back on the past few weeks, it occurs to her he really doesn't; use that word that is. In fact, he's been nearly pleasant on occasion.

She tries not to think too much on it in the coming days but notices his subtle stares and lingering looks haven't stopped. If anything, he seems to be watching her a little more. When they pass in the halls, he nods politely.

She starts to nod back.

After a month, she pairs the nod with a verbal greeting and he replies in kind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Hermione flicks her wand at another stone and levitates it to the pile slowly forming down the corridor. "It's good for you. A little hard work never hurt anyone. Especially spoiled rich boys."

"Isn't this what House Elves are for?"

Her glare could nearly freeze the ocean deep. He notices and smirks. "Still on about that are you? You know, I mean it quite literally. This is literally _what they are for_. In fact, if you asked them, they would agree with me."

"Just because they take pride in hard work is no reason to exploit them."

"See you say 'exploit' but I say generously giving them the opportunity to fulfill their favourite purpose." She watches him flick his wand at a tiny stone and levitate it away. He wears a sneer the entire time as if he can smell the rock from there, as if levitating it is akin to touching it's grimy surface. It makes her giggle.

He seems to look pleased by her laugh.

"I've not noticed you trying any of your "poetic" lines lately. Strike out with all the pureblood witches already?"

"Still watching me are you?"

"On the contrary, it seems you are often watching me."

He stops what he's doing a moment, jerking slightly and losing the levitation on another stone. "I notice when you're around is all. I've known you half my life. We've not been friends but I'd think by now we are acquaintances."

She can't argue with that. Acquaintances acknowledge each other in passing right? She nods and says, "I suppose we are. That must be shocking for you: Not-quite-friends with Hermione Granger."

She almost called herself a mudblood again and thought better of it. His reaction last time had left her reeling.

"Not so surprising really. My life has been pretty insular. The world is changing and I'm going to change with it. Pureblood witches are a bore anyway," he adds casually as if it doesn't carry enough weight to make her world tilt.

She can't even pretend not to take that as a compliment. The implication is clear that she is at least interesting to him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione is in the heads dorm, reading a book with her legs tucked beneath her on the sofa by the fire, when she hears a knock on her portrait door.

Day one, she had charmed it to open with a flick of her wand, not wanting to be disturbed from her reading every time Ron needed help with his Arithmancy.

Not looking up, she comments, "You know, Ron, that paper is due tomorrow. I would have expected you before tonight."

"Expecting another wizard? Bad form, Granger."

She looks up to find Malfoy standing in the doorway with a bottle of Ogden's and a book. Somehow over the last couple of weeks this has started to be a "thing". He shows up, claiming to not be able to find any quiet in the Slytherin dorms, and they read together. She is always curled up on the sofa, he takes the fireside and props his feet on the table between them.

"It was getting late. Figured you'd found another place to be." She tries to hide the bit of agitation, the insinuation in her voice. What she means is she saw him speaking with Astoria Greengrass in the Great Hall and assumed he was back to cheesy pick-up lines and exclusively pureblood girls. She started to imagine quick trysts in empty classrooms and then lost herself in her book for the evening to chase the images away.

"Just trying to talk Daphne's little sister off a proverbial cliff. Seems she's fallen for my dear friend Theodore and is having difficulty getting his attention."

Hermione doesn't imagine the relief at that but tries to act casual. "And what brilliant advice did you have for her?"

"Now, now… I wouldn't want to give up any of my seduction secrets. What if I need to use them on you one day?"

She accepts the banter for what it is and tries not to get excited. But when he says things like this… when he hints he could see her that way….

It makes her wish they were back in that corridor late at night.

But of course that wish is followed by another: That he hadn't quoted Rod Stewart at her.

She has tried to tamp that memory down in the last few weeks as they had developed into something like friends, the sting of his mockery tainting their new rapport. Now however, she thinks on it and asks, "You didn't give her some lines to use on him did you?"

He shrugs, casual, not looking up from the book in his lap. "So what if I did?"

"Malfoy, if she uses your lines your friend will think she's having a laugh."

Now he looks up and eyes her. "What do you mean? What's wrong with my lines?" He looks suddenly a little nervous.

"Oh come on... Where did you even get them anyway? A muggleborn?"

He fidgets and closes his book. "Of course not. Why would you even think that?"

In her mind she is revisiting that corridor again and remembers how serious he'd looked. "You don't know where those lines are from do you?" Hermione's eyes widen at his expression and she can't help the laugh. He looks offended and stands to leave and she's chasing after him. "Wait! Wait… I'm… I'm sorry," she tries through her giggles. "I don't mean to laugh it's just you're Draco Malfoy. What about all those rumours from fifth and sixth year? Sex God and all that. Why do you even need a schtick?"

He pauses and looks back. "How do you think I got the reputation, Granger? I was a kid. I certainly didn't know how to bring a witch off yet. They liked how I talked to them."

"Wait so have you never…?"

"What? Merlin, Granger, of course I have. I mean, I have _now_."

"Pansy?" She questions with more jealousy than she cares for.

"No actually. I played around with her a little but we never actually… It was a witch in Paris the summer before fifth year."

He waves off the conversation from there and seems to remember he was in the middle of storming from the room. "Whatever, Granger. I'll leave you to it. See you around."

There's something a little final in his tone that she doesn't like. He seems to be more sensitive than she would have thought, stiffening as he does when she laughs at his expense. Taking a breath she throws out, "You could stay. I mean, if you want…"

He turns back and quirks an eyebrow in a way that makes her tummy fuzzy and her heart speed. Suddenly she feels stripped bare and makes back to the safety of her sofa and her paperback.

She doesn't say anything when he returns and picks up his own book. This time, however, he sits on the other end of her sofa instead of in the chair. She looks up to find him sitting comfortably, his ankle crossed over his knee, reading.

They continue that way in coming months, barely speaking in classes or on the grounds, but reading together, nearly every night, sitting closer as time passes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The end of year ball is slated as a new tradition, a way to celebrate the new age of peace after the war.

Ron is taking Lavender, though he seems to be back in that phase of his relationship that he avoids her much of the time though continuing to snog during the rest. Harry will take Ginny of course, Neville asked Luna Lovegood, Dean and Seamus asked the Patil twins to go with them together. Slytherins seem to be sticking to their own like usual, though rumour is Blaise Zabini is taking a sixth year Ravenclaw so maybe times are changing? It seems most of Hermione's friends are paired off and no one has so much as offered her a pity date.

War heroine, indeed. She's feeling a little bitter and tempted to just skip the bloody thing.

Ultimately, Harry talks her in to going. They are expecting him to open the event, dancing with Ginny and maybe giving a little speech about unity. He says he really needs her there. She's always been his rock: Before Ginny, back in the beginning, as far back as anyone. He gives her that crooked smile and she, as always, can't tell him no.

Standing in the wings, she's watching Harry speak and fidgeting in her sapphire blue gown. Her mother sent it. Ordered especially for the night from Harrod's and charmed to fit with a little magic, it really is beautiful. Strapless and fitted and cut in fine duchesse satin, it hugs her like a lover all the way to the floor. Her curls are cascading around her face and she didn't even bother to put it up this time. There's no Viktor Krum at this ball. Not even a Ron to impress. It seems she has been relegated once again to the wallflower and she is looking forward to end of term next week and perhaps finding a nice, safe muggle boy to shag in London.

She had hoped, maybe, Draco might invite her tonight. As friends of course, having graduated from acquaintances over time. Evenings in, reading in silence slowly evolved into conversations about their books and then about themselves. Somewhere he graduated from 'Malfoy' to 'Draco', though she does occasionally use his surname, especially when he is being cheeky or exasperating; the two often going hand in hand.

She hadn't the courage to ask him who he was bringing to the ball, but she had seen him speaking with that Jones girl one day, and Lisa Turpin last week. She has been subtly looking for him out of the corner of her eye as the evening got underway but hasn't been able to track him down.

In what is most likely intended a friendly gesture, Ron asks her to dance. It's a little awkward, being in such intimate setting with him now. They managed to salvage their friendship but it's something else entirely to have his arms wrapped around her, images of his bare form coming unbidden; not out of desire but just an inability to block the memory. Once she thinks of it, more images follow and she feels the blush, grateful to be in the low lights of the dance floor. Harry dances with her once as well, probably feeling guilty for dragging her to this nonsense.

An hour in, she's by the punch table thinking back on her year and planning an early escape when she feels him approach. She knows he's there before he speaks, catching his perfectly polished dragonhide shoes out of her peripheral.

"Is this where you've been hiding all night?"

"I've hardly been hiding, Malfoy. You've not been entirely visible you know. Find a nice broom closet with your date?"

She looks over to find him frowning. "Are we back to this?"

Sighing, she asks, "Back to what precisely."

He gestures between them. "This. Where you snap at me and make back-handed comments about my intentions."

"What exactly are your intentions then? I'm sure your date is looking for you."

"My intention was to ask you for a dance. Though I'd expected less hostility."

"Oh." She's a little chastised. Why is she being so confrontational? Harry didn't ask her to the ball. Ron didn't ask her. Why is she angry at this particular friend and no one else? "Sorry. Just feeling a little tired. I'd love to, if you're still asking."

His smile returns, though a little guarded, and he offers his arm. "Well then, Miss Granger, shall we?"

She takes his arm and follows him to the dance floor. He twirls her like she imagined he would. He's a well-bred young man from high society and no doubt cut his teeth in a ball room. She mentions as much and he agrees, "Mother hired an instructor when I was four to begin teaching me to lead a witch in a proper waltz."

She laughs lightly and offers, "My father had me in ballet class when I was five. I never took to it though, and you can probably guess." She looks down at herself as if to prove a point as she struggles to follow his steps.

"I think you're doing well enough. Just hold on tight and let me lead you. Nothing more to it."

She does just that, letting him lead her in this dance then another and finally it is almost the end of the night and she realizes they haven't parted since the early part of the evening.

"It's nearly midnight," he says quietly, swaying with her close. They gave up the pretense of formal dance over an hour ago when naught but maybe three other couples remained. Breaking only to quell their thirst on occasion, they've spent the entirety of the night talking and laughing and slowly pulling each other closer.

Her breath is on his neck when she answers back, "It is. They'll be kicking us out soon."

"I wonder if we could continue this elsewhere," he questions softly.

"Are you inviting yourself to my common room," she says playfully but inside she's panting. Panicking. Praying.

She throws off the feeling when she thinks of something and pulls back to look at him. "Wait. What happened to your date?"

Draco chuckles at her. "What date? I would think at this point it might be obvious it was you."

"I… you didn't ask me."

"No," he shakes his head in agreement, "I didn't. I'm afraid I never worked up that courage you Gryffindors are known for."

"It's not like anyone else asked me. You had plenty of opportunity. You imagine I didn't like you well enough to accept your offer over coming alone?"

He looks a little guilty and admits, "I may have had a hand in your lack of companion tonight. I wasn't sure you'd agree to come with me but thought if you were alone I might be able to commandeer your evening."

Hermione narrows her eyes at him. "What do you mean you 'had a hand in it'?"

"I may have told Zabini if he looked at you I'd break his wand hand. I also… might… have mentioned to Michael Corner I learned a lot of subtle hexes over the summer. And…perhaps… I told McLaggen he would be looking for his teeth well into next year if he considered approaching you."

"I… what the hell, Draco!" She smack his chest but without a lot of heat and he continues, with a slightly more confident smirk.

"I, then, may have told Potter to make sure to get you here and I'd put in a good word for him with an Auror training specialist my family knows in Brussels. By the way, he'll be leaving for Brussels in a couple of weeks for special training. I asked him not to mention that until after tonight for fear the tosser would let something slip."

"You… why didn't you just _ask_ me?"

He shrugs. "Slytherin."

Looking around the dance floor, Hermione sees they are now officially the last couple in attendance. Who knows when the music stopped? The house elves are starting to clear away the left over refreshments and McGonagal is giving her 'the eye' that the aging Headmistress would like very much to retire for the evening, please and thank you.

"Come on." She tugs him to follow and leads him to a secluded tower she once used for private study time before her Head badge gave her the privilege of a common room.

In the tower, she stands by the window, leaning against the stone sill, and continues the conversation as if there was no pause. "So if you didn't ask me because it was somehow in your nature to scheme your way onto my dance card. The question is why did you _want_ to ask me? Why not… Daphne? Or Pansy or… or, I don't know any pureblood witch."

"Is that what you still think of me? I would only ask a pureblood? Only _want_ a pureblood?"

He steps a little closer and she looks away to gaze out the window. Anywhere but his face. Anywhere but those piercing eyes that look like hope but she fears will lead to disappointment.

Approaching from behind her, he lays his hands on her upper arms and leans close, his lips brushing her cheek. "Don't you know me yet, Hermione? After all these months?"

"It's hard to really know someone…" she says weakly and feels foolish. It doesn't seem to deter him and one hand leaves her arm, running down her skin, to clasp her hand. Bringing it up, he brushes her knuckles with his lips.

"Whenever I'm alone with you…" Another kiss, open mouthed on the back of her hand and he turns her to face him. "When I'm alone with you, you make me feel whole again."

She looks at his sincere eyes and thinks of the war and realizes how broken he must have been. How torn apart was his world.

"Alone with you, you make me feel… clean again." She sees the mark, visible where he pushed up his sleeves as they grew heated in their dancing, and knows, thinking of her own scar, what it is to want to feel renewed. His hands move to cup her jaw, tilting her head up as he searches her eyes. He nips at her lip lightly with his own, once, twice, soft as a moth's wing. She feels her eyes flutter closed and her hands reach for him, wrapping around his neck and feeling the warm skin beneath her palms. "I want to know what love is, Hermione." She breathes fast until he finishes, "I want you to show me."

Her eyes snap open once again and she kicks herself. "Stop. Malfoy, stop."

He looks confused and drops his hands. "I really thought you were serious." She is shaking her head and gathering her heels she had kicked off when they reached the top of the tower. "I can't believe… I mean I don't think you're trying to make a fool of me anymore but really what _is_ this? Trying to bed me before the end of term? Muggleborn notch on your bedpost?"

"What the fuck, Granger?"

"Well, are you?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Am I what? Trying to bed you, as you so eloquently stated? Well yes, actually. Fuck, Granger, yes; I was trying. I've been trying for months. And then I think maybe you're… that you feel the same and then you do this."

"Sorry if I can't take you seriously when you use cliché muggle lyrics on me and expect me to swoon."

"Muggle lyrics?"

She rolls her eyes and purses her mouth in annoyance. "Yes, muggle lyrics. Honestly, where did you even come up with these?"

"What do you mean, lyrics? Like from music?"

She eyes him more carefully. "Yes…" she drawls out. "You really didn't know? What did you think you were quoting?"

He shuffles his feet and looks away. "She said it was muggle poetry."

"Who said," she asks, suddenly a little bit amused.

"The shop girl. At the book shop in Diagon. Said it was classic muggle poetry. Obscure though, not like Shakespeare. I thought maybe even you wouldn't know it."

"So, you've been quoting muggle pop music because you thought you were citing romantic poetry?" She snickers. "Did it ever actually work?"

"Obviously not," he growls out. "I mean it did a little, a couple of years ago. Earned a kiss or two and that reputation I have. I've been saving the best ones though, for when it mattered. For someone more important. The most important…" He snaps his gaze back to lock eyes with hers. "I'd have quoted you a Shakespearean sonnet if I knew this would be your reaction."

He's pouting now and Hermione thinks it's endearing. He was trying to win her, to woo her, with poetry. How very gallant and old fashioned and so unbelievably adorable that she flings herself at him and kisses him hard.

He's surprised but not for long and then they are locked together, trying to remove clothes without stepping away from each other and sharing the breath between them.

"Do you still have those tickets?" She pulls away long enough to ask cheekily and quirks her brow.

He furrows his own and says, "What tickets?"

"You know, those two tickets to paradise."

He chuckles into another kiss and they spend the first of many countless nights finding paradise together.

 **A/N Not sure where this came from. It struck me at my office yesterday that it would be adorable if Draco thought he could fool pureblood witches with bad muggle lyrics because they'd never know. Somewhere along the way as I slammed through this last night, I decided he wouldn't know either.**

 **Don't Know What You've Got 'til It's Gone - Cinderella**

 **Take a Chance on Me - Abba**

 **Two Tickets to Paradise - Eddie Money**

 **Da Ya Think I'm Sexy - Rod Stewart**

 **Love Song - The Cure**

 **I Want to Know What Love Is - Foreigner**

 **Please fave and review if you had fun with this bit of fluff! I had a ball writing it and hope you enjoyed!**


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